


P: Plane

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf A-Z Challenge (with songs) [16]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski Saves The Day, derek is there for stiles, sterek fluff, stiles is kind of a father figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Stiles is supposed to be coming home from his college lookout, when the plane gets hijacked, and he tries to save everyone there, even if it kills him.





	P: Plane

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Push - Nick Jonas

He could feel the rough material falling onto his laden shoulders, unkind against his skin. He thought of the blue of it and how it was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. How the red of his blood was now seeping through it, dissolving between its threads, solidifying, like it'd never come out, would never go away. He remembered the blanket his mother had knitted for him; how soft it felt, despite her barely knowing what she was doing. How he slept with it every night, until it came apart and he cried. She made him a sweater then, of the same material, and the same pattern. And he wore it all the time, disregarding the changing weather and how unfashionable it actually was. Until that came apart too.

He thought of the blanket his father tried to knit for him, two weeks after his mother passed. How he sat there, on the kitchen table, an almost empty bottle of liquor in front of him, as he tried to clear his vision enough to know where to put the needle next. He couldn't get the material to thread together gracefully, couldn't seem to make it whole. He threw it away one night, cursing at the lack of sound its crash made, so he threw his glass against the wall, and then the bottle. And when that wasn't enough, he threw a few other things too.

" Stiles!" He thought he heard his name somewhere in the thick air he was choking on. He tried to look away from the unfamiliar blanket around him, tried not to trace where his blood faded into the other man's, tried not to think of the tug he felt, the pull around the seams of his being. But when he looked up, Derek's eyes were terrified, as he pushed between the panicked crowds, and his arms were thrown somewhere away from him, like they were reaching out, like he was holding on.

Stiles' legs crumbled beneath him, gave out, gave in, just as Derek's arms eased his fall, pulled him in, and he was held against a fiercely beating chest, and an overwhelming flood of warmth, and he didn't know how to breathe around it, around the whispered consolations, and the fear breaking through every word, every exhale. Stiles was rested back onto a wall, Derek's hands hovering around him, trying to figure out what to do, how to take any of it away.

" Are you okay?" Stiles thought he nodded, thought he put his hand in the air, until Derek took it, clung to it.

" When I saw the news, and. I was terrified, I thought, I don't know what I thought, I just needed to get to you. Needed to see you. They kept saying, people who made it would be coming through this gate, or the next, and I- I didn't want to think of what that meant, what- if you hadn't come out of this, Stiles, I." Stiles opened his eyes, just as Derek's closed, his head shaking, falling against his chest, like it was too heavy. Stiles wanted to carry that too.

" I'm sorry." Stiles whispered, the things they'd yelled at each other still a hushed buzz at the back of his aching head. He couldn't remember what the fight had been about, could barely remember who had been right. But he'd left for his plane that'd take him to see a few possible colleges, and he almost hadn't made it back. He almost hadn't had the chance to fix this, to see him again, and leave him with something else. Something better.

" No, Oh my God, don't say that. It was stupid. I was wrong. I'm sorry. I don't **_care_** , Stiles. I don't care. I just." Derek seemed frantic, almost, out of control. Stiles tried to will his features into a comforting smile, as he let his eyes close again, tired, down to his bones, as his arms fell somewhere beside him, losing their grip on Derek.

" You're bleeding. Stiles, you're hurt, we need to get you to the paramedics, or to the hospital, or at least-"

" I can't move yet. Lets just stay here. For a while. Or, forever. I don't know." Derek sighed, falling away from his knees, resting his back next to Stiles'. Their shoulders were brushing, Stiles' blood now tinting his clothes with red too. Stiles tried to be okay with that. He tried to be okay with the grieving parents, screaming for a child that would never come back, would never walk through those gates, but would be rolled through them, carried. He tried to be okay with the sound of the hoses pouring water onto the remains of the plane, of the burned people still trapped inside. With the flashes of the cameras that had no business being there, documenting the loss and the grief and the utter breaking of human beings. But he couldn't be. Couldn't be okay because none of it really was.

Derek had a hand on his back, so present, so steady, as he guided him to where his dad was skimming through the chaos, trying to pour reason and calmness into an impossible situation. Stiles breathed out, forced the air right out of his lungs, before his father's eyes moved away, and fell on him, and stayed there even after they filled with tears, and released them. He pulled his son by his arm, the sound of their crash so loud, Derek thought Stiles would be in smaller pieces, if his father really let him.

" Thank God. Oh thank God, you're okay, Stiles. You're okay." The sheriff buried his face into his son's shoulder, trying to find something that had always been there, that he'd always smelled like. He pulled away, taking his son's face into his hands, searching for something. Derek didn't know if he found it, but then he buried himself into his son again, and they stayed there, until one of the officers spoke too firmly to someone, and the sheriff had to fall back into who he was supposed to be, who they needed him to be.

" The paramedics are this way, I think Melissa might be there too. When you're cleared, you're supposed to head to the station, to give your statement, but you don't have to. You can go home, I can take your statement there, tomorrow or something. It doesn't matter."

" No, no. I'm going to go to the station. Want to get this over with, you know. Maybe it'll help." The sheriff didn't ask what it should help with. Stiles didn't say either. He let his dad plant a kiss to his forehead, pat his shoulder, before Derek steered him away, to where Melissa was, laying an oxygen mask on someone's face, telling a story long enough to put them to sleep.

" Melissa," Derek called out, and when she turned, a breathless sound of something made it past her lips, before she held onto Stiles, almost like his father had. Stiles wondered if his mother would have held him the same way, if she'd been there. It probably wouldn't have happened, if she hadn't gone away. Things had had their way of falling apart, ever since she'd fallen into the ground, and made a home out of their heartbreak.

" Scott was just here, I think your dad sent him to help with something. Come on, tell me where it hurts." Melissa sat him down on the edge of the ambulance. He tried not to say everywhere, as she pulled the blanket away, tracing all the holes in him that were bleeding out. He felt like he was bleeding something else into the cavity of his chest, something like despair, like misery.

" Is that a gunshot wound? Were you shot?" Stiles nodded, shakily again, after thinking he'd found his balance.   

" The bullet isn't in there. It's not that bad." Melissa continued to inspect his wounds, trying not to think of how Stiles' body was trembling like there was something running through it.

" And the head wound?"

" Hit my head into one of the exits, when the plane started diving."

" Your ears seemed to have been bleeding too. Your drums took a serious beating."

" Pressure. One of the bullets put a hole in the exterior, and the air pressure went crazy."

" Oh, Stiles," Melissa held onto the shoulder between her fingers, her features falling with helplessness, with a kind of fear that she couldn't shake away.

" I can't fix all this up here. You need to go to the hospital, come on, get in. You too, Derek, if you want to." Melissa eased Stiles onto one of the gurneys, hooking him up to machines that flared with the sound of his heartbeat. Derek got in, closing the doors behind him, before Melissa knocked at the window separating the back of the ambulance, and the driver's seat.

" I'm not liking this heartbeat rate. Do you want me to give you a sedative? Something to help calm you down?" Stiles shook his head immediately, breathing out and willing some of the anxiety to go along with it. He held onto the bars of the gurney, trying to curl his fingers around something other than themselves, to take his nervous energy out, but the gurney was twitching along with him, and he could barely keep from crying. Derek took his hands, threaded his fingers between them, like he was telling Stiles to hold onto him instead. And he did.

" They're going to take you straight to an OR, kiddo, to fix that gunshot wound, and replace the blood that you lost. When you wake up, you should be good to go. I don't know if I'll be there, or if they'll send me back out there, but you'll be okay, alright? You'll be just fine." Melissa ran her fingers through his hair, letting them rest there, where the blood had dried. Stiles nodded, smiling, or at least, trying to.

" Melissa, did you happen to see a little boy when you were back there? His name is White, I think, he was wearing like a blue flannel, with a captain America shirt underneath, and shorts. He wore glasses too, they were yellow."

" I don't think so, no. I'll keep an eye out for him, though. Was he hurt or something?"

" He was sitting in front of me, and. Yeah. I just wanted to make sure, he came out okay." Stiles' hands tightened around Derek, almost breaking something, to overshadow the sound of whatever was breaking in him. Derek let him. Until, he was wheeled out of the ambulance, and to the OR.

" I'm going to be right here, Stiles. I'm not going anywhere." Stiles nodded, his hand in the air, like he was waving Derek away, putting his goodbye out there, in case it was needed. Stiles always felt like he might not come back. Like everything he left people with, would stay, for longer than he had. And he hated how he was always almost-leaving, the people that he'd begged to stay.

It took Stiles two hours to come out of surgery. Scott came some time during the first hour, sitting next to Derek, not really having the words to say, or the will to speak them out. Derek didn't mind, because his hands were smudged by blood that smelled like Stiles but also, someone else, and Derek didn't know how to feel about having a stranger's blood on him. Lydia came during the second hour, looking like she'd been crying, telling them about the scream that she let out that morning, and how she was hiding away in her bed, trying not to see who was taken away. Scott held her, while Derek barely made it to the bathroom, before throwing up the breakfast he was having, when he saw the headlines about the plane. He washed his hands, then washed them again, until the red was all gone, but the scent was still there. He didn't think it would fade away any time soon.

It took Stiles two hours after that, until he was coherent enough to answer all the doctor's questions, and feel the ache in his bones, the thumping in his head that sounded like an airplane's motor, fading into something crashing. Scott helped Stiles into the clothes he'd gotten for him, because his were bloody and torn and Stiles would rather walk around naked, than feel them against his skin again.

" Doctor said a bunch of things that we need to take care of, but I wasn't really listening, that's what we have Lydia for. You okay, though?" Scott's hands were fixing the collar to Stiles' shirt. He lifted his uninjured hand, resting it against Scott's arm, and leaving it there.

" Could have been a lot worse. I'm just, I'm glad to be back with all of you." Scott smiled, although, it was one of the saddest things Stiles had ever seen.

" I can't even tell you how good it is to have you back, Stiles. And, I'm here for you. Whenever you need it. Whenever you're ready. I'm here." Scott had a hand on Stiles' face, resting his forehead against the bandage keeping Stiles' from bleeding out again. Stiles' breathing staggered, tripped upon itself, as he latched onto his friend, and let the sound of his presence, drown out everything else.

  


Derek drove Stiles to the station, with Scott and Lydia in the backseat, trying to talk about anything, if only to fill the silence. Fill all the holes in Stiles' being, and cement him back together. He had his arm in a sling, that Lydia wanted to sign for him, although, it wasn't a cast, and the fabric was probably too soft to absorb any type of ink, but he let her speak of all the things she'd draw on there, and he smiled, every time Scott managed to find a dirty meaning behind it.

They all walked him into the station, where the people who knew him, held on, and those who didn't, stared in wonderment, like they were trying to figure out what was so special about him, that he made it out, when all those other people, didn't. He tried to look away, to not see the similarities between those faces, and the ones left behind in the plane, shot or burned or just.. dead. And really, what difference did any of it make?

Parrish helped him into the sheriff's office, telling his friends that they could stay, because he had a feeling he'd only be able to tell the story once, if it all, and Stiles didn't know how he was meant to do even that, without their weights against him, keeping him from floating, or sinking, or fading away all together. The sheriff walked in, looking drained, the wrinkles on his face deepening, like he'd gained years on top of his own. He tried to smile at Stiles, before collapsing onto his chair, taking off his gun and badge, opening one more button on his shirt, before announcing that Stiles' testimony would be recorded, for future inspection.

" So, Stiles, take this at your own pace. There's no rush. Would you like me to ask the questions, or would you rather tell the story yourself?"

" I don't want to forget anything, so, you ask."

" Alright. From what we've been told so far, we know there was a gunman on board, later identified as Ian Kelly. He was demanding an emergency landing somewhere that wasn't Beacon Hills. Is that correct?"

" Yeah. He wanted to land in Citrus Heights. He seemed desperate, but the pilot and the crew told him they couldn't do that, because there was no functioning runway there, for the plane to land. That's when he, uh, started shooting at random, and." Stiles swallowed, trying to grasp at the sound of his father's voice, through all the screaming and yelling and bullets. Too many fucking bullets, he couldn't take them all.

" Do you know why he wanted to land there? Or how he got that gun onto the plane?"

" He said he had family back in Citrus Heights. Someone was ill, or, dying, I don't know. And he couldn't afford to wait long enough to drive there. He, he kept talking about going home. He just wanted to go home, dad. I don't- I don't think he was in his right mind, or, he meant for this to happen. For all those people to, to die." There was pressure against Stiles' side, a hand falling onto his knee, and he looked at it, and tried not to see it coated in blood, paling and bluing, and stiffening with finality.

" But he took a gun to a plane full of people, Stiles. He put it to their heads. He pulled the trigger. People died, because of him. **_You_** could have- could have died. It doesn't matter what he wanted out of it. At the end of the day, this is what he left people with. This is what he left behind." The sheriff choked, something lumping in his throat, that felt like his son's name, and everything he ever wanted to tell him. He looked away, tried to clear his throat, to keep the cries down, for a little bit longer.

" Wh- what do you mean, left behind? He-"

" He was killed in the crash. Hit his head the wrong way, and he already had a bullet wound in his chest, so he bled to death. They couldn't get him out before the left wing was in flames. His family refused to come down here to identify and bury him. They wanted nothing to do with him."

" No, dad," Stiles whined, rising to his feet, with a hand tugging at the hair that was no longer bloody, no longer shielding an open wound. " He did all of this for them. They can't just leave him. They- they **_can’t_**." Stiles couldn't breathe. It smelled too much of lead and blood and fire. And he felt like the hands that were on him, were burning through him. Carving the names of all those who died, into his skin. And he thought of his own hands, twisting a sword through his friend. He thought of Allison and Aiden and- he wondered if he deserved to die for that too. If nothing else counted, because that was what he would leave them with, what he would leave behind.

" Stiles, come on, kid, you're okay. Everything is going to be okay. I won't let anything happen to you. I've got you, Stiles. I've got you." Stiles blinked past the red coating his eyes, and the blue in his father's eyes was so diluted, so watered down by the tears held there, that Stiles couldn't help the cry that pierced through his lungs, tumbled out of his lips.

" You're not that. You're nothing like that, Stiles. This isn't on you. You- you did good, kid. You did great. Come on now, breathe with me. You can do it." Stiles was held against the sheriff's chest, his heart following the pace of his father's, without really deciding to. It beat when the other did, stopped when it did too, until Stiles was breathing out something other than strangled screams. Stiles nodded against his father's shoulder, falling away, almost as soon as his dad let go, but there were more hands against his back, and it didn't matter, how loose he was, how boneless his limbs felt, because those hands would hold him up, keep him together.

" You want to go home?" The sheriff questioned, staying relatively close. Stiles shook his head, easing back into his seat on the couch, between Derek and Scott, with Lydia on the couch's arm, that was closest to Scott.

" Sorry. I'm okay. We can carry on." The sheriff looked hesitant, pained, but he turned away, and sat back on his chair, seeing something across Stiles' features that he couldn't really bear.

" Okay, so, the first victim, was Owen Henderson, who was seated in the row in front of you."

" Yeah. He was with his little boy; White. They were out of town for a Baseball Tournament that White was part of. When Mr. Henderson realized what was happening, he told his kid to stay with me, because, we've been fooling around through the trip, and. He was a really nice kid. But, Mr. Henderson was trying to get him his stuffed bunny, and that- fuck, Ian thought he was trying to get closer to him, and he shot him, in the back. He fell right by his son's feet. And White just. He was turned to me, so he didn't see it happen, but, when he felt the dead weight on his legs, he just. He didn't understand. Thought his dad was playing with him, was- was **_playing_** dead." Derek swore he could feel something tearing inside him, Stiles' voice cutting through it, pulling at the organs and vessels and flush. He didn't know how Stiles was still doing it. Didn't know how he wasn't in remains.

" His aunt took him in. He didn't have to go through the system. And physically, he was barely hurt at all. He got lucky."

" Yeah. Lucky." Bitterness laced Stiles' voice. Derek could almost taste it.

" How did you acquire your own gunshot wound?"

" I was trying to calm the situation, talk to him, you know, distract him, until we landed or at least reported what was happening, or something. And it worked, for a while. I told him about you, and how, how weird being the sheriff's son basically is, and,"

" Hey," The sheriff whined, furrowing his eyebrows in mock offense, and Stiles let out an almost breathless laugh. Like it wiped him out, to laugh at all.

" I told him about how those people just wanted to go home, like him, and that they did nothing wrong, and would do nothing to hurt him. He just had to let them be. He was hijacking a plane, with a weapon too. He'd already killed someone, so, it wasn't looking good for him. I promised I would help, would do everything I could, to give him less time in prison, or at least get him to his family, or something. I don't even know. But then, the sky marshal stepped in from behind me, pointing his fucking gun, and he- he just lost it. He shot the sky marshal, and the air hostess standing behind him, and then he was aiming at White, and I had to do **_something_** , you know. I couldn't just let him kill White, he's a kid, dad. He's just a kid." The sheriff's eyes were filling up with something, as his head moved into a nod, in silent understanding.

" So, I- I stood in front of him, he was yelling, and I think I yelled too. I don't know what I was saying, or, what I should have said, but I pushed his hand away, and he shot through the glass window. It didn't break. But he pulled me against him, put the gun to my head, and kept screaming that he'd shoot me, if they didn't turn the plane around. Over and over and over." Stiles remembered how cold the barrel was against his sweating forehead, how he could hear, every sweat drop, brushing against it, how Ian's arms trembled, every touch screaming how he didn't want to do this.

" I remember, White holding onto my legs, and crying so hard, I thought he would, like, pass out or something. I didn't really think, I just, wanted to keep him safe. Get him the fuck out of there, without losing anyone else. So, I took Ian's hand, with the gun, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet went through my shoulder, out of my back, and into his chest. And then it was just.. chaos. He shot at the roof, at the cockpit, I think somewhere on the floor too. The plane started going down, but we were probably on a low altitude by then, because the wheels were out when we crashed, and, I hit my head somewhere between all that. People were just, being thrown around, and, the masks came through the ceilings, and. When I came to, everyone was running, I was on top of White, trying to keep him away from all of this." Stiles thought he wouldn't see past all the reds of the blood around him, on him, until the black of darkness clung to him, devoured him, till there was barely much left.

" And then, we just.. ran. Before I even made it back into the airport, there was an explosion, and a motor was set on fire, or something. I don't know. But, yeah. Then I saw Derek, and, that's it, really. That's all I know." Stiles shrugged, sinking further into the couch, deflated, feeling defeat tingling beneath his skin. Derek choked on something, like he was trying to breathe, without crying. Like he was trying to breathe at all.

" Jesus Christ, Stiles." The sheriff had his hands around his face, trying to un-see his son, so devastatingly fragile, lost somewhere in his head, between his blood on people's hands, and theirs, on his. He stopped the recording device, rising to his feet, and trying not to lean against his chair too much.

" I- I love my job. You know, it's all I've ever wanted to do with my life. But, being your dad, having you carry my last name so kindly, so selflessly, I think, I can't do any better than that. Than you. I'm just, so proud of you, Stiles. And so fucking scared, of all the giving you're willing to do for people you barely know at all. But to know that you have that heart, and that head on your shoulders, gives me hope, like I can't even tell you." It was odd, how young and innocent, Stiles suddenly seemed. And how the sheriff looked nothing like that. Like the weight that lifted off Stiles, was thrown onto the sheriff, and he took it with such grace, with such love, because he'd do anything for his son, would carry it all, if it'd mean that he wouldn't have to.

The sheriff was on his knees, pulling his son towards him, resting both their foreheads against one another, letting Stiles' tears fall against his skin, dissolving into whatever the hell he was shedding. Stiles didn't know if he'd ever stop crying, if he'd ever feel anything against his skin, other than the spray of Ian's blood, and the air that blew against him so unkindly, it felt like he was being skinned, peeled open. But he could feel this; could feel his father's warm breath, his touch that would never do any harm, would never take away from him. He could feel Derek's fingers trying to hold onto him, without scaring him away, without accidentally tightening, in fear of losing him again.

" I love you, dad." Stiles pushed the words past his tightening throat, past the fading air in his chest. The sheriff smiled, Stiles could see it, could hear it in the tremble of his exhale.

" Love you too, kiddo."

The sheriff said he had to stay behind, to take the rest of the statements, and go through the immense amount of paperwork, before discharging the bodies to their families. He promised that he would eat something healthy, and drink enough water, and seek out Parrish if it all got too much. So, Derek drove Scott and Lydia back to their houses, promising to take care of Stiles, for the night at least, until they could come and see him again the next morning. He had a feeling Stiles wouldn't want to spend the night away from home, so he silently drove there, helping his almost hollowed out body, out of the car, but there was someone already by the door, and Stiles' inhale was so sudden, so loud, Derek waited for the collapse of his lungs, for the cough out.

" White," A little boy was running towards Stiles, who pulled away from Derek, finding something within himself to take the staggering weight of the boy, and whatever else he threw at him. Stiles had a single arm around the boy's waist, as he lifted him up, holding him in an embrace so desperate, Derek wondered if they would morph into one another, melt into another being, someone else completely.

" Buddy, I missed you, are you okay, huh?" White pulled his head away from Stiles' shoulder, smiling, all bright and joyful, like the world had barely touched him at all.

" I was looking for you back at the airport, wanted to see if you were hurt, like dad." White frowned, his lips puckering, as his eyes fell away from Stiles', taking in the sling around his arm, and the bandage that was slightly smudged in red, hiding some of his hair.

" No, I'm alright. I tried finding you too, but there were too many people, I'm sorry, buddy, were you scared?" Stiles put White down, running his fingers through his soft hair, that smelled of the shampoo his mother used to love, years and years ago. Stiles only now noticed the awaiting, adult, shadow, standing nearby, as if to give them space.

" Oh sorry, I'm Stiles, are you his aunt?" Stiles pulled out his good hand, shaking the young, woman's hands. Derek imitated his movement, with a tired smile curved around his lips.

" Yeah, I'm Jenna. I'm his mother's younger sister. He's going to stay with me for a while, aren't you, kiddo?" Jenna leaned down, kissing the top of White's head, causing his smile to resurface, his features to light up.

" Yes, auntie Jenna is taking me on a roadtrip, Stiles. She's going to teach me how to drive!" Stiles laughed then, feeling something easing away in his chest, softening. Derek didn't think there was anything that was ever hard about Stiles, except maybe, his head, probably, his stamina too.

" Don't go crazy, though, wouldn't want you to get a ticket or something. Safety first, White." Stiles warned, humor twinkling in his eyes, as White nodded, jumping between his legs in enthusiasm.

" He didn't want to go anywhere before seeing you. We had to ask the officers back at the station for your address. We've been waiting here for almost an hour now."

" You're the best, White, you better come back to visit, okay? Any time you feel like it. I'll give my number to auntie Jenna, and you can call me whenever you want to. Anything you need, kiddo." White latched on again, hiding his head between Stiles' feet, as he told his number to Jenna, saved it, along with his address, and his father's number, just in case.

" Thank you, Stiles. He told me his version of things, and, they told me the rest of it, at the station. I- to tell you the truth, I have no idea how I'm supposed to raise a kid all on my own, but, I'm all he's got. I can't let him down."

" You won't. He's a great kid. He just needs some loving. So, just be there for him, you know, and I mean it, anything you need, just give me a call." Jenna nodded, trying to smile through the tears slipping past her eyes. Stiles pulled her into a cautious, side hug, leaning down, to hold onto White again, and trace how his body felt against his chest, exactly how far his arms managed to circle around Stiles' larger figure.

" Alright, buddy, take care, now."

" You too, Stiles. See you, soon." White waved, fading into the distance, and Stiles wondered, if he'd ever come back at all, if he'd ever see him again, see the man he'd grow into. Stiles hoped he would. He really did.

He fell back into Derek, like his threads had been cut off, and there was nothing keeping him together. Derek helped him into the house, where he fell onto the couch, when the room felt too far away. Derek went into the kitchen, took a glass of water, and some juice, along with the painkillers that Stiles definitely needed, and the medicines that would help his blood clot, and not bleed through his bandages. He had to hold the water to Stiles' mouth, because his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Stiles didn't really want to drink the juice, but Derek willed two sips down his throat, before he gagged, like he'd throw it all up if Derek pushed too hard. So he didn't.

And then, it was just them, finding comfort in the proximity, in the closeness, in the silence they didn't have the energy to break, to push away. Derek was following the beats of Stiles' heart, was tracing his scent through everything clouding his mind, souring what Stiles normally smelled like.

" I didn't even like any of the colleges I saw, this is fucking stupid." Stiles hissed out, angling his head towards Derek, staring at him through hooded eyes, something like a smile forming around the edges of his lips.

" What?"

" This whole trip was pointless. Like, means of transportation just don't like me, man. I crashed my Jeep at least a dozen times. My first time taking an airplane, and that managed to crash too. I swear, I was on the Titanic in some past life, alternative universe type of thing, and I'm the reason why it sank. I'm telling you, I should never move again." Derek blinked, trying to take in the hesitancy in Stiles' humor, before he laughed out loud, throwing his head back, his eyes squeezed shut, and his hands on his chest, to stop the laughter from feeling too much like choking. Stiles laughed too, letting his head fall onto Derek's shoulder, and leaving it there.

" I wouldn't really mind that. Just stay here." There was a plea somewhere between the folds of Derek's voice. And Stiles sank further into him, brought his arm and spread it over Derek's shoulder, like he was trying to keep him there too.    


End file.
